Always Be Coaching

In sales, there’s an old saying that has echoed through offices and training rooms for decades.

Always be closing.

It’s meant to keep the salesperson focused on their end goal. Keep the deal moving forward. Stay alert to opportunity. Maintain momentum.

Over the years, I’ve come to believe leaders need a different version of that advice.

Always be coaching.

As a leader, your mission is to develop the people who will come after you. You lift others through quiet, daily work that helps them grow. Your job is to bring out the best in yourself and in the people who will eventually step into your role. Coaching drives growth and keeps it moving forward.

Coaching your team is a way of saying, “Your future matters to me.” Coaching your children says, “I believe you have more inside you than you can see today.” And coaching yourself acknowledges the simple truth that growth must continue throughout life, especially for the leader.

Great coaches do more than explain ideas. They create space for practice. They help others turn new knowledge into muscle memory. They offer challenges sized just right for the moment. They ask questions that change how a person thinks about a problem. They reveal a new angle or a new path forward when something feels unsolvable.

Coaching takes learning to the next level. You learn something. You put it into practice. Then you pass it on. Teaching anchors the lesson. It deepens the insight. It turns wisdom into a gift you can hand to others.

Coaching doesn’t require perfect knowledge. It requires humble generosity. Share the insight you gained from yesterday’s challenge. Share the questions that helped you see an issue more clearly. Share the perspective that lifted your confidence when you needed it most.

Leadership is a relay. Someone handed the baton to you. One day you’ll hand it to someone else. The best leaders prepare the people who will run ahead long after they’ve finished their leg of the race.

Who have you coached today?
This week?
This month?

This is your responsibility. Your opportunity. Your mission.

Always be coaching.

Photo by Sylvain Mauroux on Unsplash – who are you helping to climb their next mountain?

Measuring the AI Dividend

In the early 1990s, the term Peace Dividend appeared in headlines and boardrooms. The Cold War had ended, and nations began asking what they might gain by redirecting the resources once committed to defense.

Today the conflict is between our old ways of working and the new reality AI brings. After denial (it’s just a fad), anger (it’s taking our jobs), withdrawal (I’ll wait this one out), and finally acceptance (maybe I should learn how to use AI tools), the picture is clear. AI is here, and it’s reshaping how we think, learn, and work.

Which leads to the natural question. What is our AI Dividend?

Leaders everywhere are trying to measure it. Some ask how many people they can eliminate. Others ask how much more their existing teams can achieve. The real opportunity sits between these two questions.

Few leaders look at this across the right horizon. Every major technological shift starts out loud, then settles into a steady climb toward real value. AI will follow that same pattern.

The early dividends won’t show up on a budget line. They’ll show up in the work. Faster learning inside teams. More accurate decisions. More experiments completed in a week instead of a quarter.

When small gains compound, momentum builds. Work speeds up. Confidence rises. People will begin treating AI as a partner in thinking, not merely a shortcut for output.

At that point the important questions show themselves. Are ideas moving to action faster? Are we correcting less and creating more? Are our teams becoming more curious, more capable, and more energized?

The most valuable AI Dividend is actually the Human Dividend. As machines handle the mechanical, people reclaim their time and attention for creative work, deeper customer relationships, and more purpose-filled contributions. This dividend can’t be measured only in savings or productivity. It will be seen in what people build when they have room to imagine again.

In the years ahead, leaders who measure wisely will look beyond immediate cost savings and focus on what their organizations can create that couldn’t have existed before.

Photo by C Bischoff on Unsplash – because some of the time we gain from using AI will free us up to work on non-AI pursuits. 

Teachers, Mentors, and the Grace That Carries Us

“There is no Frigate like a Book / To take us Lands away.”

Emily Dickinson wrote these words in her quiet room, understanding something I didn’t grasp for decades. The greatest journeys begin within.

I know her poem only because of my 11th grade AP English teacher, Mr. Cox. As a rambunctious and cocky 11th grader, would I have taken any of my “super valuable” time to read poems, sonnets, short stories, even books? No way.

But because of his work (and the work of countless other teachers along the way), I did read. A lot. I learned tons of material and information that didn’t matter to me at the time…but matter a lot today.

My focus back then was simple. Be the best student, get the highest test scores, pass as many AP tests as possible, and earn varsity letters in multiple sports. Mostly, I wanted to beat everyone else, pure and simple. It helped that I was blessed with an almost photographic memory and could recall facts and formulas with ease (sadly, not so much nowadays).

I carried that mindset into college. I loved being the student who defined the grading curve for the class. I was annoyed if I didn’t get every single point on an assignment, midterm, or final. I had an almost uncontrollable drive to outshine everyone…as if that was all that mattered.

I was completely wrong.

On the bright side, that drive and motivation made me a successful student and propelled me into my early career.

On the other hand, seeing everyone as my competition, and less as people, meant I probably missed out on a lot of fun. And lots of friendships that never happened. I was so focused on the destination that I forgot to notice who was traveling with me.

That realization connects me back to Dickinson’s frigate in ways I never expected. She saw the book as a vessel capable of carrying anyone, anywhere, without cost or permission. But what I’ve learned over nearly fifty years since high school is that I was asking the wrong question. It was never “How far can I go?” It was “Who am I becoming, and who’s helping me understand?”

My journey from that hyper-competitive teenager to what I hope is a much more caring, thoughtful, empathetic, nuanced, and life-giving person has been propelled by those same teachers I mentioned earlier, and a longer line of guides who keep showing up at the right time in my life.

I didn’t realize it then, but those books, poems, and teachers were all part of my fleet of frigates. Each one quietly helped me close the distance between knowledge and understanding, between my ambition and wisdom.

My mentors, family, and friends have all been vessels that carried me through changing seas. Some taught me to sail straight into the wind. Others reminded me that drifting for a while can be part of my journey as well. Each lesson mattered, even the ones that didn’t make sense at the time…especially those.

Over time, life has a way of sanding down our sharper edges, revealing something deeper underneath. My focus slowly shifted from being the best at something to becoming the best version of myself.

Now, when I think about Emily Dickinson’s frigate, I picture something far greater than a book. I picture a lifetime of learning, carried by the people who invested their time, wisdom, and patience in me. Mr. Cox, and others who gave freely of their time and wisdom, helped me see that the destination isn’t solely becoming the top of the class. It’s finding a profound depth of understanding, the expansion of empathy, and the ability to see beauty and meaning in small, unexpected places.

If I could go back and talk to that 16-year-old version of myself, I’d tell him the real tests aren’t scored on paper. They’re graded every day in how we treat people, how we listen, and how we show grace.

I’d tell him that the frigate he thinks he’s steering alone has always been guided by grace. The true measure of his voyage will be how much space he makes for others to come aboard.

We’re all learning to sail, carried by the steady hand of God.

We never really travel alone.

Photo by Rafael Garcin on Unsplash

When an Idea Stops Being Yours Alone

There’s a quiet moment in meaningful work when your idea begins to live in someone else. You see it in the way they talk about it. You hear it in their enthusiasm. You notice how they add their experience and their language to it until the idea carries their imprint as much as yours.

It can feel strange the first time it happens. You know the origin, but they suddenly feel the spark of the idea for themselves. That’s the moment you know your idea has begun to grow.

Real success often arrives like this, but we don’t always notice it. People begin to adopt your idea, reshape it, and eventually believe in it with a conviction that can be surprising. They explain it to others in their own voice. They defend it. They improve it. If the idea spreads far enough, some will forget where it began. Your name may fade from the origin story. That loss of attribution can sting if you hold the idea too tightly. It should feel like success instead.

Leaders have a responsibility here. Ideas rarely spread through logic alone. They spread through emotional ownership that grows when people discover a piece of themselves in the idea. When that happens, they carry the idea farther than you ever could by insisting on authorship.

A leader’s task is to create the conditions for this transfer. You offer the early shape of the idea, then invite others to step inside and help build the next version. You ask for their insight, their experience, and their concerns. You let their fingerprints gather on the surface until the idea becomes a shared creation. People support what they help to shape.

As others begin to adopt your idea, they’ll need to feel safety in their new enthusiasm. They need to know they’re not the only ones who believe in this direction. A wise leader pays attention to this. They take the people who have embraced their idea and introduce them to others who have done the same. They form new connections, helping to create a small community where confidence strengthens and courage grows. When people see others adopting the same idea, they feel validated, understood, and ready to act.

This is how ideas gain momentum inside organizations. One person sees the promise. Another begins to shape it. A third begins to feel inspired. Before long, it becomes a shared narrative. It starts with your imagination, but it continues through their belief and conviction.

Once people begin to adopt your idea, you must release it. You may or may not receive credit for it. Either outcome is acceptable.

The goal was never to build a monument to your creativity. The goal was to move the organization forward. When others bring your idea into new conversations without you, your contribution has done its job.

Your attention can return to the horizon. There’s always another idea waiting for you, another possibility that needs your curiosity, another problem that needs new framing.

Good leaders plant seeds. Great leaders celebrate when those seeds take root across the organization.

Inspired by Dr. Michael Levin’s post, h/t – Tim Ferriss

Photo by Alex Beauchamp on Unsplash – a new idea taking root and growing beyond its beginning.

The Pathways to a Rewarding Life

Finding Purpose at Every Age

From thirty thousand feet, the land below looks like a patchwork of roads and fields. Each marks a choice someone once made about where to go. Some stretch straight and steady. Others twist through hills or fade out of sight. Together they form a map of movement and direction, a living story of people who kept choosing the next road.

Life feels the same way. The routes change, but the invitation stays the same. Keep moving to find greater meaning.

The most rewarding paths often pass through three places. Serving others, staying curious, and daring to pursue new goals.

Service opens our heart. When we give to something beyond ourselves, our life expands. For the younger generation, it teaches them that purpose grows through generosity and connection. Helping a friend, joining a cause, or showing up for someone who needs encouragement builds an identity rooted in contribution. Later in life, service transforms experience into legacy. It turns lessons into guidance and presence into impact. Every act of service whispers that we still matter.

Curiosity keeps that whisper alive. It invites discovery and reminds us that wonder never expires. For young adults, curiosity shifts attention from comparison to possibility. It fuels creativity and builds resilience (because nobody said it would be easy). For those further down the road, curiosity revives joy. Learning something new, exploring unfamiliar tools, or asking deeper questions renews their spirit.

Big goals complete the trio. Ambition alone can fade, but big dreams shaped by purpose bring hope to life. For the young, bold goals turn uncertainty into motion. For the experienced, they rekindle the thrill of becoming. The thrill of pursuing. Every goal, whether to build, create, teach, or grow, reminds the soul that movement still matters. Hope rises with every goal we dare to pursue.

Many people never take these paths. Fear of failure, fear of embarrassment, fear of losing face…they each build fences where we can hide.  Quiet excuses convincing us to play small and call it wisdom.

Fear says, “Stay comfortable.” Curiosity says, “Let’s see what happens.”

When fear wins, both young and old lose sight of their forward motion. The young adult who fears being judged easily drifts into hopelessness. The older adult who hesitates to dream again slips into quiet surrender. The reasons sound different, yet the root feels the same. Fear has taken the wheel. Stagnation and hopelessness follow.

Purpose waits just ahead. It lives in the next act of kindness, the next mystery to be solved, the next dream still worth chasing.

The pathways to a rewarding life have no finish line. Every act of service, every curious step, every daring goal breathes new life into our soul.

When we explore these paths, joy and fulfillment will be our companion.

Photo by Line Kjær on Unsplash – I wonder what’s in the next valley.  Let’s go find out. 

Why Curiosity Is the New Competitive Advantage

Imagine two managers sitting at their desks, both using the same AI tool.

The first asks it to write the same weekly report, just faster. Three hours saved. Nothing new learned. Box checked.

The second uses the AI differently. She asks it to analyze six months of data and search for hidden patterns. It reveals that half the metrics everyone tracks have no real connection to success. Two new questions emerge. She rebuilds the entire process from scratch.

Same tool. Different questions. One finds speed. The other finds wisdom.

This is the divide that will define the next decade of work.

For a long time, leadership revolved around structure and repetition. The best organizations built systems that ran like clockwork. Discipline became an art. Efficiency became a mantra.

Books like Good to Great showed how rigorous process could transform good companies into great ones through consistent execution. When competitive advantage came from doing the same thing better and faster than everyone else, process was power.

AI changes this equation entirely. It makes these processes faster, yes, but it also asks a more unsettling question. Why are you doing this at all?

Speed alone means little when the racetrack itself is disappearing.

Curiosity in the age of AI means something specific. It asks “why” when everyone else asks “how.” It uses AI to question assumptions rather than simply execute them. It treats every automated task as an opportunity to rethink the underlying goal. And it accepts the possibility that your job, as you currently do it, might need to change entirely.

That last part is uncomfortable. Many people fear AI will replace them. Paradoxically, the people most at risk are those who refuse to use AI to reimagine their own work. The curious ones are already replacing themselves with something better.

Many organizations speak of innovation, but their true values show in what they celebrate. Do they promote the person who completes fifty tasks efficiently, or the one who eliminates thirty through reinvention? Most choose the first. They reward throughput. They measure activity. They praise the person who worked late rather than the one who made late nights unnecessary.

This worked when efficiency was scarce. Now efficiency can be abundant. AI will handle efficiency. What remains scarce is the imagination to ask what we should be doing instead. Organizations that thrive will use AI to do entirely different things. Things that were impossible or invisible before.

Working with AI requires more than technical skills. The syntax is easy. The prompts are learnable. Connecting AI to our applications isn’t the challenge. The difficulty is our mindset. Having the patience to experiment when you could just execute. The humility to see that the way you’ve always done things may no longer be the best way. The courage to ask “what if” when your entire career has been built on knowing “how to.”

This is why curiosity has become a competitive advantage. The willingness to probe, to question, to let AI reveal what you’ve been missing. Because AI is a mirror. It reflects whatever you bring to it, amplified. Bring efficiency-seeking and get marginal gains. Bring genuine curiosity and discover new possibilities.

Here’s something to try this week. Take your most routine task. The report, the analysis, the update you’ve done a hundred times. Before asking AI to replicate it, ask a different question. What would make this unnecessary? What question should we be asking instead?

You might discover the task still matters. Or you might realize you’ve been generating reports nobody reads, tracking metrics nobody uses, or solving problems that stopped being relevant two years ago.

Efficiency fades. What feels efficient today becomes everyone’s baseline tomorrow. But invention endures. The capacity to see what others miss, to ask what others skip, to build what nobody else imagines yet.

The curious will see opportunity. The creative will see possibility. The courageous will see permission. Together they will build what comes next.

The tools are here. The door is open. Work we haven’t imagined yet waits on the other side. Solving problems not yet seen, creating value in ways that don’t exist today.

Only if you’re willing to ask better questions.

Photo by Subhasish Dutta on Unsplash – the path to reinvention

How Limits Bring Art to Life

Inspired by G. K. Chesterton

I’ve come to believe what Chesterton once said. Art is limitation, and the essence of every picture is the frame. It took me time to see that truth.

Many of us grow up thinking freedom creates great work. Unlimited time. Unlimited canvas. Unlimited choice.

But if you’ve ever stared too long at a blank page, you know what real freedom can feel like. Paralyzing.

Nothing takes shape until the edges appear. A story waits forever if the writer can’t decide where it begins. Music is noisy until the composer chooses a key. The frame gives the work its purpose.

The same is true in leadership and life. A budget helps us decide what we value. A deadline turns a dream into something real. A small team learns to trade excess for imagination. Limited resources push us to invent new ways to adapt. The frame brings focus.

Still, the frame itself matters. A picture can feel cramped when the frame becomes too tight. A project can drift when the wrong thing fills the center. When the boundaries are off, the whole image loses clarity. That’s why wise leaders spend time defining the edges before the work begins.

Whenever I work on a puzzle, I start by finding all the edge pieces. Once the border comes together, I can see how everything else might fit. The same principle applies to creative work and leadership. The edges give us context. They help us imagine where the middle pieces belong and how the picture will come to life.

Frames should change as we grow. The world shifts. We learn more about what we’re building. Every so often, we step back and see whether the picture still fits. Sometimes the frame needs widening. Sometimes the colors need more light. Adjusting the frame keeps the beauty true.

Constraints give possibility its shape. They reveal what truly matters. Choosing the right limitations helps us see what is essential.

When you feel boxed in or limited, pause before you push against the edges. The frame around your work may be the very thing helping the picture appear. And when the picture becomes clear, refresh the frame so the beauty within it continues to grow.

Thanks to James Clear for sharing this G. K. Chesterton quote: “Art is limitation; the essence of every picture is the frame.”

Photo by pine watt on Unsplash

Doing the Thing

Writing a song is like fishing, Kenny Chesney once said. Some days you catch something beautiful. The melody, the moment, the truth. Other days, you sit there all day with nothing but frustration and a stubborn belief that it’s still worth being out there.

That kind of wisdom transcends genres. Ernest Hemingway spent his life circling the same idea. That real art happens when we show up. Whether facing a blank page, a marlin that wouldn’t bite, or a battle that couldn’t be won, he believed the only way to live fully was to move, to act, to engage.

His work embodied a simple truth. The shortest answer is doing the thing. For him, wisdom wasn’t found in thinking about life, but in living it. No clever phrasing. No shortcuts. Just the act itself. Simple, honest, alive.

We spend so much of life thinking about what we might do, planning what we should do, waiting until we feel ready to begin. But readiness rarely arrives on its own. The line stays slack until you cast it. The song stays silent until you play it. The story remains untold until you write it.

Sometimes we catch something incredible. Other times, nothing.

Either way, we were there. Present. Awake. Participating in the work and wonder of life.

Maybe that’s the whole point.

A life well-lived must first be lived.

Photo by Shojol Islam on Unsplash – I wonder if he’ll catch something on this cast. Maybe. Maybe not. But, he’s in the game, giving it his best shot and that’s what matters.

The Day We Visited the Taj Mahal and Never Saw It

There are certain destinations in the world that feel larger than life. The Taj Mahal is one of those places. For many travelers, seeing it with their own eyes is a once-in-a-lifetime moment.

We were finally there. We had made it to Agra. All that remained was to step inside the gates and witness the iconic white marble glowing in the sun.

Only one problem.

There was no sun. There was no white marble. There was no Taj Mahal.

There was only fog.

We woke that morning filled with hope. The rooftop restaurant gave us a commanding view of… absolutely nothing. We stared into a wall of haze, sipping coffee and laughing at the absurdity of our timing. Surely the fog would lift. Surely the Taj Mahal would reveal itself.

Our guide, Kuldeep, assured us everything would be fine. He had led more than 500 tours of the Taj Mahal. He knew everything there was to know about its history and its beauty. We boarded our bus, grabbing our special cloth bags with a picture of the Taj printed on them. These were designed to hold the single water bottle we were allowed to bring inside the property. And we set off with excitement.

Fog. All the way there. Fog in the parking lot. Fog at the security lines. Fog as we walked the long approach toward the main viewing area. Each time Kuldeep stopped to point out an “excellent vantage point,” we nodded with wide eyes, imagining the magnificent structure hidden somewhere in the mist.

We took photos pointing at the picture on our water bottle bags. That was the only Taj Mahal available to us from any vantage point.

As we walked toward the building, we eventually reached the outer wall and finally saw something. White marble appeared just a few feet above our heads. Then the stone vanished again into the haze. The grand dome. The sweeping arches. The delicate inlays. All shrouded in fog.

We were standing beside one of the wonders of the world and could only see a sliver of it.

Our group laughed so much that day. Not because we had traveled halfway around the world only to miss the view. We laughed because we were sharing something unforgettable and slightly ridiculous. We were experiencing a story that would last much longer than a postcard-perfect photograph.

Kuldeep shook his head with disbelief. In all his tours, he had never experienced this. He told us we were a very select group of visitors who could claim something few on Earth could say. We visited the Taj Mahal, but we have never actually seen it.

He was right. I still have never seen the Taj Mahal in person.

The destination was never the prize

You might think this would be a disappointment. But when I look back on that trip, the fog made everything richer.

The destination was never the prize. The people were.

We shared meals and conversations and inside jokes. We tried foods that were new to us. We navigated chaos and beauty side by side. We saw India’s contrasts and colors and kindness. We saw devotion expressed in temples and marketplaces. We saw how history and modern life can exist on top of each other without barriers.

The Taj Mahal is extraordinary. I would love to see it someday with clear skies and a rising sun. Yet I already have what I came for.

When I think about all the amazing places I have been blessed to visit, a pattern appears. I never say, “Remember when we saw that famous landmark.” I say things like:

– Remember how we got lost trying to find it?
– Remember the tiny restaurant we discovered afterward?
– Remember the guide who became a friend?
– Remember that amazing gelato place in the middle of nowhere?

I have my memory of that rooftop breakfast. I have the echo of laughter on the bus. I have the photos of my family and friends pointing to a water bottle bag as if it were the crown jewel of Indian architecture.

The world is full of wonders. But relationships are the wonders that stay with us.

The real bucket list

If someday I return to the Taj Mahal and finally see it, I’ll smile and take it in. But I know the picture etched into my heart is already complete. It’s filled with faces and voices and laughter. It has the beauty of our shared experience.

Checklists are fine for airplanes. But our lives deserve something better.

The best adventures can’t be captured by a camera or a perfect view. What lasts are the relationships made stronger by shared surprises, setbacks, and moments of wonder.

This story, fog and all, remains one of my favorites.

Photo by Mark Harpur on Unsplash showing the majestic beauty of the Taj without fog. 

The photos below are mine showing what we actually saw.  Unfortunately, the amazing water bottle bag photos are stored on a drive I can’t see…a little bit like that morning in Agra more than a decade ago.    

There it is!
Can you see the Taj in the background?
Can you see the Taj on the right?

Seeing What Comes Next

The difference between reacting to the moment and preparing for it.

Most leaders spend their days responding. A problem surfaces. They fix it. A crisis hits. They mobilize.

Urgency crowds out importance. By Friday they’re exhausted from fighting fires they never saw coming.

This is leadership without anticipation.

Every action sets something in motion.

-Launch a product without considering support capacity, and you’ll be drowning in angry customers in three months.

-Promote someone before they’re ready, and you’ll spend the next year managing the fallout.

-Ignore the quiet signals in your market, and you’ll wake up one day wondering how you got disrupted.

Some outcomes can be seen in advance. Leadership is the discipline of noticing what’s coming and readying your team to meet it.

Wayne Gretzky once said, “I skate to where the puck is going to be, not where it has been.”Most leaders skate to where the puck was. They optimize for yesterday’s problem. They staff for last quarter’s workload. They strategize for a market that no longer exists.

Leaders who matter skate differently. They think past the first step and see how decisions unfold across time. When they make a choice today, they’re already anticipating the second and third-order effects.

They connect short-term actions to long-term outcomes, asking not just “Will this work?” but “What happens after it works?”

When you cultivate this habit of anticipation, something shifts. You stop being surprised by the predictable. You create space before you need it. You move with a quiet confidence that comes from seeing the terrain before you cross it.

Your team feels it too. It’s the difference between reactive and ready, between scrambling and intentional.

We can’t eliminate uncertainty. The future will always bring surprises. But we can change how we manage it. We can choose to be the leader who sees what’s coming rather than the one who’s perpetually caught off guard.

Dwight Eisenhower said, “In preparing for battle I have always found that plans are useless, but planning is indispensable.” Plans will change. They always do. But the act of planning, of thinking through trajectories, testing assumptions, and imagining scenarios, prepares you to lead when the moment arrives.

The leader who anticipates doesn’t wait for clarity. They sense it forming and courageously move toward it. They shape the path while others are still reacting to it.

Photo by Aleksander Saks on Unsplash